“don’t make me repeat myself, bob.” 

“i won’t.” william murmured. he stood a distance away from the entrance to the master bath, arms folded, unable to look at her. he hadn’t since the incident. “i just thought we’d talked about discipline.” 

discipline. rules. law. he should have known better, should have had more of a spine. yet, martha constantly found he lacked even the most basic conviction. it was fine, it suited her needs. she almost preferred it. it was becoming an annoyance, that nonexistent spine of his. something to manage, to correct. a firm hand she needed to place underneath his posture time and time again. 

her last husband had been a strong man, but he was too strong, unable to stay within the confines of their marriage. she’d left him for that, taken his children and half of himself with her to a new coast. things would be different this time, she thought. this poor soul wouldn’t have the backbone to do something like that. at least, his sagging shoulders and distraught expression told her as much. 

“somebody has to put her in line.” martha snapped. her wrist stung from contact with an icepack that she tenderly dabbed along splotchy bruising. a garish mark left where her-, where william’s son, had wrenched her arm. 

it irritated martha to even consider that little degenerate her own. compared to a darling like lewis, cain was a malcontent. a reprobate more obsessed with his own sister than anything else, at expense to himself and those around him. he was oblivious to this, of course. he assumed everyone else in the world was too. it made sense. that was the kind of idiot this man would spawn. 

william wasn’t truly an idiot. not really, not when they met. he was just broken. tired. easy to wrap around her finger and easier still to push in the direction she needed him to go. he didn’t have a lot, could offer her even less, and he wasn’t that great of a lay. not that it really mattered, sex had lost its appeal after martha learned how little her body truly mattered to men who’d sworn themselves to her. it was tool, like mascara or jewelry, to convince and control, nothing more. 

william was, however, a frustration; in this moment and others. sticking up for brats who he’d failed to raise properly. pushing back at every point she attempted to set them straight. martha was a woman of principle. it behooved her to enforce them, to ensure compliance. after all, compliance was respect, and respect was unconditional between parent and child. inherently, through that transitive property, there was an expectation that compliance was unconditional. 

her own children understood that. she had been able to pull away knowing full well they were on a good path. yes, they had their own demons to face; her thoughts turned to kelsey’s collection of low-rise jeans and lewis’ questionable room decor, but in general they behaved in a way that was becoming of her offspring. the training wheels had come off. 

her husband had been remiss to discuss removing them from his own children. even now, even though she had been hurt, stood up to. this cowardly man still defended the actions of the cretin who had humiliated her and thrown authority back in her face. it was beyond unacceptable, a gross misstep that must absolutely be corrected, lest it become a pattern of behavior. 

martha looked over herself in the mirror. the overhead light fixtures did wonders to show off her shining hair, still lustrous at 45. it had been a good choice to have them installed. she again dabbed idly at her wrist, thankful for william’s silence, but quickly grew tired of it when she realized he was simply too afraid to speak. “does it not bother you that he could have struck me?” 

“i don’t think it’s fair-” 

“fair?” martha hissed. she stalked from the bathroom back towards the master bed and threw her wrist up between them. “is this fair?” 

“of course not, dear. i only-” 

“then what is it exactly?” she wondered aloud, incredulous.  

“cain is very protective of his sister. he hasn’t grown to recognize you yet and…” william murmured. fear kept him from continuing. doubt. she saw it wracking his body, flitting across his brow, trembling in his eyes as they darted away from her own piercing gaze. 

“and?” 

“and his mother never-” 

“no.” martha said, flat. definitive. she would not stand for that. she would not be compared to another, inferior woman. “that is certainly not an excuse.” 

“i know, but it’s the truth.” william sighed. “and it means he’s going to react poorly.” 

“poorly.” martha tutted, taking a step towards william. “poorly.” she repeated. william stiffened, crossed and uncrossed his arms, and craned his neck away from the injury she extended in his direction. “this is just a poor reaction to you?” 

“dear.” 

“bob.” 

“i’ll talk to him. to them.” william amended. he had managed a glance at her wrist and his eyes lingered for just a brief moment before seeking out the wallpaper again. martha sat down on the bed next to him, sinking a distance into the plush duvet. he placed a hand on her thigh and she laid her own overtop. 

“you’ll regret being this soft.” she said underneath a sigh. “you’ll take it to your grave.” 

“it’s-” william started. his hand fidgeted underneath hers, fingers twitching and worming. his hesitation festered and the silence carried on. 

“take your time.” 

“i just want everyone to get along.” william choked. “i want us to be a family.” 

“he needs rules, structure. you break a colt because its instincts are harmful.” martha insisted. her anger was beginning to bubble again. “this…this gentling will make him weak.” 

“i know that.” william spoke. he was trying to be confident, but his tone wavered and broke on the last word. 

“then why fight me on this, bob?” 

“i…i just can’t. i can’t tell him not to defend lacey, i don’t know how to square it.” william said. he pulled his hand away from her to place it on his balding crown, head hung. martha got up and strode away, the icepack falling from her wrist to the carpet with a muffled thump. 

“this is different.” she snapped. there was nothing holding back the anger now. it boiled over, spilled from the lip, from the wrist and the finger. trembling, eye twitching rage. martha took a breath, then another. the mood threatened to cloud her vision, to complicate things and make them two-sided. she couldn’t afford to give him ammunition. this incident had been so clear cut, so perfectly defined on all sides to provide the handholds she needed to scale this mountain. an outburst here would be an avalanche that buried them both. 

“not to him.” william sighed again. he laid down, kicked his feet onto the bed, and reclined as if it were the world’s grandest therapy chair. the man was dwarfed against the mulberry sheets, small and defeated. he sunk into the pillows and martha saw him for his every flaw. sad, tired eyes. shallow breathing, marred on the inhale by a lack of fitness. his flabby gut, not even something that was always distasteful to her, but now, in the face of such overbearing vulnerability, seemed like such a scarlet letter. 

these were the times she questioned the marriage, her decision, her love. she hadn’t married william for what he could offer her. it was already well established he had very little. the man was funny, strong willed when he wanted, and he understood her. even here, at his weakest, she still felt the slightest tug of empathy telling her to let this go. she still found him handsome, even though his hair had breathed their last gasps, and he had long since abandoned the gym.  

perhaps it was worth it to let him reap the consequences of his own actions. these weren’t her children after all. she wouldn’t be the one to feel the shame and embarrassment at how they developed. martha let the rest of her anger subside and leaned over the brass plated footboard. her hands found purchase at the top of the thin metal rods that made it up, a position made her wrist ache, but she ignored it to focus on him. 

“fine.” she relented. “but you will make it clear this is not okay.” 

“i will.” william assented. he would, she knew that, but it irked her still. if lacey grew up to be an aggressive brat with loose morals, it was certainly not her fault. yet, she still felt some begrudging obligation towards the girl, dreading the thought of whispers between mothers at pilates or book club. it irritated her to no end that cain had put her in this position.  

she turned her anger towards him. he was the source, the cause. he needed to be isolated. quarantined. william had been adamant against sending him away to a school for reconditioning and in a house this small it would be difficult to find solutions sufficient in abstracting him from the other children. martha raised a hand to her face in contemplation, electing to consider a different angle. 

“lewis says he’s feeling cloistered in the room with cain, you know how he is.” 

“i do.” william said, his voice still unsteady. she eyed him closely, and he kept her gaze.  

martha continued, despite the doubts about his agreement. “we have the labor for the kitchen, yes?” 

“yes.” 

“why don’t we have them spruce up the attic, put stairs in?” she proposed. less a casual suggestion and more a soft statement, though only a practiced linguist might have caught the true intent. 

“move one of the boys up there?” william offered. martha knew she loved him for something.  

“cain would have more space.” she added. the air of suggestion had left her voice and now she was looking for agreement. her husband was smart enough to nod his head. he could keep up with her from time to time, follow her thoughts and wants. 

“i can have the architect draw something up.”  

“good.” martha smiled. she rose from her position across from william and walked around the other side of the bed. “i love you, bob.” 

“i love you, dear.”